


Hold On

by RainbowLookingGlass



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 12:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10308293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowLookingGlass/pseuds/RainbowLookingGlass
Summary: Bitty is used to feeling like this, at least once a year. Usually people don't really notice he's any different. He never let himself realize just how much support would help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This deals with a very heavy description of living with PTSD, a full day from one morning to the next. If you feel like that could be triggering, I would suggest not reading.

He woke with a jolt at his alarm, sitting straight up, chest heaving, as he fumbled around for his phone. He looked around the room in a bit of a daze, trying to get his bearings. He expected to see a brute of a man jeering at him, having just tackled him into a closet and clearly intending to lock him in despite Bitty’s pleas. 

 

Slowly, reality filtered in. Bitty was in his bed, in his room at the Haus. He had class in an hour. He was safe, and warm, and had just woken up from an absolutely terrifyingly vivid nightmare. Again. For the second time this week.

 

He pulled himself out of bed with a groan. His head already hurt and his eyes felt heavy and he would sacrifice a pie for a few more hours of sleep. But he dragged himself into the bathroom, knowing that staying in bed would just allow thoughts and emotions to swirl and grow and drown him, as they had before, when he still would try to find sleep again. He knew better now. At least while he brushed his teeth and waited for the shower to warm up, the emotions couldn’t quite get high enough to pull him under. The fear and guilt and sadness and most of all the fiery  _ anger  _ joined forces and were making a valiant effort. But he just breathed, and pulled off his pajamas, and settled himself under the spray. If the water was a little too hot, nobody needed to know. If he had to sit down halfway through, nobody needed to know that either. 

 

Being around people helped. It kept him in the present, reminded him that not everyone was bad, that not all large men were going to try and hurt him. Kept him out of his head. Breakfast with the boys was good, there was chirping and stupid arguments and the french toast that Bitty liked. Bitty was actually able to forget about the nightmare for a little while, laughing right along with the team. It was perfect until Ransom went to clap him on the back, and he knew rationally that he flinched way too hard for such a harmless gesture. The way Ransom backed off and apologized felt like a knife in his stomach, the look Jack gave him when he tried to laugh it off twisted it. 

 

Classes were always difficult to concentrate on, but these days it felt like he was in a fog. He got every few words but his eyes felt like they had weights attached and his head was aching dully no matter what he did. The three or four hours of sleep he was getting a night just wasn’t cutting it, and when his professor teased about how much he was yawning all he could do was smile sadly and make a week joke about college students. He monitored himself the rest of the class, actively suppressing the yawning, and tried to do so in the rest of his classes too. He hated it when people could see through him, see any evidence of his pain. He was fine, or would be, and he just wanted to get through it in peace. 

 

Back at the haus he threw himself into his baking. It was hard to think or feel when he was elbows deep in dough, reciting his favorite recipes from memory to himself. He made two pies before he started on dinner, making a huge pasta dinner with three different sauces for the boys. Everyone sang his praises, making a similar commotion as they had at breakfast. It helped, just as it had that morning, and he tried to keep it goings as long as possible, plying everyone with pie and hot chocolate or coffee. Slowly they all got up to wash their plates, trickling off to their own rooms, thanking Bitty one last time. Bitty set to work scrubbing pans, ignoring the sadness he inexplicably felt at the empty room, setting his jaw against the tears that threatened. When he felt a silent presence at his side he jumped away, heart fluttering. Jack apologized, offered to help with the dishes. Bitty accepted, hoping maybe the strong, steady presence of Jack would help a little. It did, cleaning turning into chirping and splashing each other with water collected in cupped hands under the faucet. It reminded Bitty of the first day, when Jack yelled at him in the shower, and his heart leapt to his throat. Jack seemed to notice, asked what was wrong. Bitty claimed it was nothing, and Jack wasn’t usually a pusher but he just wouldn’t let it go. Bitty started getting angry, telling him it was none of his business, that he was doing just fine thank you very much. Jack kept asking, kept getting frustrated, finally said harshly that it was affecting his practice and he needed to know as captain, goddammit. Bitty had somehow migrated and found himself in a corner, Jack having moved with him. He was trapped, and Jack’s voice was too loud, and good lord he was so tired.

 

He sank to the floor. Tears finally fell as he put his head in his hands. He was shaking a little, and somewhere in the back of his mind he hated feeling weak, but he just  _ couldn’t  _ anymore. He heard Jack sink to his knees near him, moving to the side a little, murmuring something that Bitty couldn’t quite process but appreciated. Jack didn’t touch him. Bitty couldn’t be more grateful.

 

Slowly Bitty calmed down. The tears and shaking stopped, he realized Jack had given him a lane so he wouldn’t feel so trapped. He wiped his face dry and faced Jack. His brows were furrowed and his eyes showed the mixture of concern and sadness so clearly that Bitty nearly started crying again. Instead he suggested they go to the reading room.

 

At first they just sat in silence, gazing at the stars. Jack didn’t push anymore, but Bitty was getting tired of nobody knowing. So finally, he talked. About the boys back in Georgia, about knowing how to use his fists but getting ganged up on. How his first tackle reminded him so much of the fights that he went down crying. How the team decided he should be locked in a closet overnight as punishment, and how he came out of the closet a different person, and he’s never been able to get himself quite right. How most of the time he feels okay but every year at the same time it hits him like a truck all over again. No sleep, nightmares, little things reminding him of it and scaring him. It was the most he’d ever talked about this at once, and he worried that maybe it was worse in his head, that he was making a big deal of nothing.

 

Jack listened with the same intensity that he plays hockey. He nodded and made little noises to show he was listening. He didn’t interrupt once, just let Bitty talk until he was all talked out. He thanked Bitty for trusting him. Offered a fist bump. Told Bitty that if he wanted to talk to a therapist, he would help find one or walk with him to the counseling center. Asked if there was any way to help.

 

Bitty couldn’t even feel embarrassed when he started crying again.

 

Eventually Bitty was shaking from cold instead of emotion so they tumbled into Jack’s room. They started with Jack at his desk and Bitty on the bed, but at some point Bitty craved touched and asked Jack to sit with him. They kept talking, Bitty afraid of nightmares again, kept laughing, even as their eyes drooped. They got under the covers to warm up after the cold night air. They really should’ve expected to fall asleep like that. Maybe they did, without realizing.

 

When Bitty woke up it was to Jack’s alarm. He was uncomfortable in his jeans, and too hot trapped between the wall and--

 

Jack.

 

Jack was on his side, snuggled up to Bitty. His eyes were slowly opening to his alarm, groggy from what was probably less sleep than he was used to. He turned it off, asked Bitty how he felt.

 

It had only been about five hours of sleep, but they were restful. There hadn’t been any nightmares. He didn’t feel afraid. He smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at thesegayhockeynerds.tumblr.com


End file.
